Spotify hopper videre til neste sang på lista. “If you just let me in I can be your friend. Just let me in I can be your friend” men for faen da Johnny Sands, hvem enn du er, kom inn!

Døra står på vidt gap.

It’s Saturday night and I can feel envy burning inside me.

Girls walk past me in high heels, they share a heartfelt, drunkenly laugh between them. Some of them are wearing coats, others tight jeans, one of them has painted red lips. I, however, have my hair in a messy bun and an old sweater over a T-shirt. The girls walk in groups on their way to the London nightlife. I walk alone in the opposite direction.

Some evenings the loneliness takes a stranglehold on me. I’m underground, waiting for the tube towards Edgeware. The clammy air from the tube tunnels are pressing against my face and I feel like pushing the emergency button on the wall next to me. EMERGENCY I am lonely, EMERGENCY I don’t want to travel home to Colindale, I want to go travel home to Norway. EMERGENCY I’m suffocating. Perhaps it’s the clammy air, made up of more particles from the human skin and hair, than of oxygen. Or maybe it’s the loneliness.

I place my backpack between my legs on the tube. Instead of opening my book, I open Spotify and press play on Britney Spears. I’m not a girl, not yet a woman. Right now I can’t bear being nearly twenty and independent. I want to feel sorry for myself and wish myself home to mom. Tears stings in my eyes and I wonder if any of the tourists or the Englishmen around me even cares.

Spotify skips to the next song on the list. “If you just let me in I can be your friend. Just let me in I can be your friend” but damn it Johnny Sands, whoever you are, come on in!